Pressure
by pigs103
Summary: "He felt like he was drowning.He was to become a Deatheater and help Voldemort kill Harry and rule the wizarding world. There was only one problem. He didn't want to be a Deatheater." Dark,Cutting  Draco's reactions to becoming a Deatheater.


Okay, so I wrote this story for my best friend's birthday. I don't own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter, including all of the characters. And for the record I loathe this pairing.

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><p>He felt like he was drowning. The pressure was crushing him. He was to serve the Dark Lord, like his mother and his father had. He was to become a Deatheater and help Voldemort in his quest to kill Harry and rule the wizarding world. There was only one problem.<p>

He didn't want to be a Deatheater.

Draco awoke with a groan. His day had started and he had slept less than an hour, as he had the night before and the night before that. He trudged to the mirror and stared into the mirror. His pale complexion had become a pasty grey and the sunken, dark circles under his eyes did nothing to make him look healthy. With a sigh, Draco continued his day, pulling on his robes he headed down to the Great Hall, even though he hadn't been able to stomach anything in a week.

Half way to the Great Hall, Draco noticed three figures. The silhouettes belonged to none other than Hogwarts' famous trio: Ronald Weasly, Hermione Granger, and, of course, Harry Potter. Draco stopped and stared. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with these Gryffindors today. It was the start of the school year and Draco had just gotten word from his father that he was to meet with the Dark Lord near Christmas, the exact date was still unknown, for his initiation as a Deatheater.

Draco continued onward in hopes that Harry and his friends would ignore his presence. He had no such luck.

"You look tired, Malfoy. Is becoming a Deatheater taking a toll on you?"

"Shut it Weasly. I'm not in the mood to deal with the rubbish that spews from that mouth of yours today."

Draco shoved past the three Gryffindors and walked into the Great Hall. Taking a seat at the Slytherin table, he ate a piece of toast, drank a glass of pumpkin juice, and promptly headed on his way to the dungeons for double potions.

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><p>"Today you will be responsible for brewing a simple paralysis potion. It will be handed in at the end of class and graded. I have chosen partners for today's class. No objections will be made unless it is your wish that I deduct house points. Now then the groups are as follows:<p>

Mr. Weasly and Mr. Potter,

Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Finnigan,

Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger…"

Snape's voice continued to drawl throughout the dungeon, but Draco was no longer paying attention. He was going to have to work with Granger, the filthy mudblood who, in his opinion, was way too full of herself. He was exhausted and frustrated. The pressure his father put on his shoulders made it difficult to concentrate on anything. How was he to make it through a class of double potions with Granger insulting him every time he took a breath? Hermione pulled out a stool to sit besides Draco.

"Listen, Malfoy. I don't like you. You don't like me. I understand that, but I will not allow our differences to affect my academics, understood?" Draco was vaguely aware that he was nodding as Hermione opened her mouth to speak again. "Good, I'll get the ingredients. Think you can manage getting the cauldron?" Without a word, Draco got up to get the cauldron.

For the next two hours Draco and Hermione brewed their potion with no problems. This was mainly because Draco hadn't spoken a word the entire time. As class ended Hermione handed in a flask of the potion and Draco left to return to the Slytherin common room.

He was sitting in the common room alone for less than one minute when his father's head appeared in the fire place.

"The 23rd" With those two words the face of Lucius Malfoy disappeared and something inside Draco snapped. He ran to his dorm and slammed the door shut. Tears of frustration began to collect in the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to be a Deatheater! He didn't want to serve the Dark Lord! But what choice did he have? If he refused he would be a disgrace to the Malfoy name. He'd be disowned. He'd be killed. Grabbing his wand, Draco locked the door and sank to his knees. Slowly, he withdrew a silver box from underneath his bed. Gently, he opened the lid, as if the smallest movement would cause it to shatter.

Inside the box lay a single knife. Jewel encrusted, it was a six inch blade that could easily be concealed. It was the one thing hi father had ever given him. He stared at the blade for a moment before picking it up. He rolled up his sleeves and pressed the knife against his flesh. Pressing down tenderly, a small stream of blood flowed down his arm. Draco sighed, he knew this was wrong, pathetic even, a Malfoy, low enough for self harm. It was laughable, but the pressure was killing him and it felt too good for him to care.

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><p>Review, it makes my day. And, in case you were wondering, this will be a multi-chapter fanfic.<p> 


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